Her neck like the lime And her breath like the thyme, And her bosom untroubled By care or by time. Like a bird in the night, At a great blaze of light, Astounded and wounded I swoon at her sight.
Since I gave thee my love, I gave thee my love, I gave thee my love, O thou berry so bright; The sun in her height Looked on with delight, And between thy two arms, may I die on the night.
And I would that I were In the glens of the air, Or in dark dismal valleys Where the wildwood is bare, What a kiss from her there I should coax without care, From my star of the morning, My fairer than fair!
Like a Phœnix of flame, Or like Helen of fame, Is the pearl of all pearls Of girls who came, And who kindled a flame, In my bosom. Thy name I shall rhyme thee in Irish And heighten thy fame.
Dear God! were I fisher and Back in Binédar, And Nelly a fish who Would swim in the bay there, I would privately set there My net there to catch her, In Erin no maiden Is able to match her.
And Nelly, dear God! Why! you should not thus flee me, I long to be near thee And hear thee and see thee, My hand on the Bible And I swearing and kneeling And giving thee part Of the heart you are stealing.
I’ve a fair yellow casket And it fastened with crystal, And the lock opens not To the shot of a pistol. To Jesus I pray And to Columbkill’s Master, That Mary may guide thee Aside from disaster.
We may be, O maiden Whom none may disparage, Some morning a-hearing The sweet mass of marriage, But if fate be against us, To rend us and push us, I shall mourn as the blackbird At eve in the bushes.
O God, were she with me Where the gull flits and tern, Or in Paris the smiling, Or an Isle in Loch Erne, I would coax her so well, I would tell her my story, And talk till I won her, My sunshine of glory.
For thee I shall not die, Woman high of fame and name; Foolish men thou mayest slay I and they are not the same.
Why should I expire For the fire of any eye, Slender waist or swan-like limb, Is’t for them that I should die?
The round breasts, the fresh skin, Cheeks crimson, hair so long and rich; Indeed, indeed, I shall not die, Please God, not I, for any such.
The golden hair, the forehead thin, The chaste mien, the gracious ease, The rounded heel, the languid tone, Fools alone find death from these.